


one night in Soho

by nigiyakapepper



Series: the gilded cage [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: M/M, Piercings, Porn with Feelings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigiyakapepper/pseuds/nigiyakapepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why? Was he just that good?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	one night in Soho

**Author's Note:**

> the actual summary being "Why? Was his dick _that_ good?"

Galliard’s bitten his nails down to the red, Rati idly notes around a mouthful of Krispy Kreme.

The patissier behind the counter stares at them scandalized, but there’s nothing he can really say. Not only are they paying customers, they’re paying customers who own 60% of the pretentious little cafes and shops along Champs Elysees. He should be grateful his business was given a spot along the luxury road. It takes blood and sweat to pay the rent.

Instead, he brews a tiny cup of 30 euro coffee and brings it to their table. Galliard picks it up and takes a loud sip without so much as a thank you. Snobbish rich kids with snobbish rich friends who have the gall to bring in cheap American comfort food into the hallowed halls of French boulangeries, the patissier scoffs and retreats to the kitchen.

“You’re pissed,” Rati finally says. There’s only one donut left in the box. She hasn’t shared even one out of two dozen she’s consumed in the past hour.

Galliard doesn’t answer right away. He glares out the café’s lovely painted window, framed with lace curtains that match the quaint, rustic feel of the place.

“Remember when we ate at Hutong? At the Shard? Finals week just ended and Suzugamori Ren wanted to throw his money around and rented the damn place.”

Rati rolls her eyes, “As if you don’t do that yourself—“

“Shut up.”

“—but of course I do. That was just last week. Why?”

He bites his thumbnail. He does it when he’s distracted, worried and/or irritated, Rati’s noticed. His manicurist is going to flip his shit again, not that it isn’t amusing to see.

“I met a guy there.”

But that isn’t new.

“You’re seriously bothered by that?” She’s amused. It’s in her voice. “You usually aren’t, y’know. Why? Was his dick _that_ good?”

Galliard sighs, coming out of his stupor for a little while and scrubbing his face before losing himself again on a slightly different page. He begins.

 

*･゜ﾟ･*

 

Hilariously enough, after China, London is said to have the best Chinese cuisine. Galliard doesn’t know if that’s really true or not.

They’re at Hutong at the Shard. A lovely limbo-modern Chinese restaurant with token Asian-esque ambience of bamboo and minimalist trappings, as well as a great almost-360 view of the London skyline. Whereas the dinner hour would have the place filled with hoity-toity businessmen in suits and their dates in sleek-cut dresses, the place is empty, save for fifty guests ranging from their early 20s to mid-30s, dressed in casual, brand-name clothing and laughing over lady drinks at the bar. They’re an unassuming, although affluent graduate class from the London Business School, celebrating the end of finals week by spending more money that necessary on bourgeoisie dining. Well, not all of them. Foreign exchange student, Suzugamori Ren, heir and actually-CEO to the prestigious Fukuhara Industries back in his home country, thought to be hospitable by taking his classmates out for dinner in the classy establishment.

Galliard’s prissy about it for reasons exclusively Galliardian—

 

*･゜ﾟ･*

 

“—who does he think he’s trying to one-up? He’s only a twink with a student visa!”

“Keep your voice down,” Rati says, clearly amused. There’s no one in the café aside from them, the curious cashier behind the counter, and the patissier in the kitchen.

 

*･゜ﾟ･*

 

Disliking people is a default. But Ren strikes Galliard as especially…dislikable. It’s his aura. Something about him radiates annoying but he can’t quite put a finger on it. Begrudgingly, he joins his classmates for dinner at Hutong, because _wow_ Ren isn’t the only one who has a lot of money to show.

Halfway from the chilled scallops to the soft-shelled crabs in chili sauce, Galliard sees him.

A figure who stands out from the wall even if he’s clearly trying to blend in. He’s sharing a table in the far corner with no one, picking at food with a bored sort of elegance impressive for a person of his visage. At first glance, he looks small, the type you’d get irritated by for looking so much like bully-bait but Galliard stares and stares and realizes the boy is far, _far_ from bully-bait.

Soft blue hair, not unlike Galliard’s own, frames his smooth baby face, complimenting creamy pink skin. He’s dressed in a becoming lilac, sleeveless turtleneck, smoothly pinching along with the hourglass dip of his waist down to dark jeans that hugged his supple ass in the most illegal of ways.

The boy is fucking gorgeous.

Galliard is drawn to him. He finds himself sitting next to him before he knows it.

“Um…”

The boy looks up and oh his eyes are the most tantalizing blue. He swallows.

“Hello,” Galliard greets in French, before catching himself and switching to English.

The boy smiles, “Hello.” It’s in French. He looks Asian, but the distinct phonology rolls off his tongue like he grew up in the heart of Paris. The thought lights a fire Galliard’s belly.

“My name is Olivier Galliard, yours?”

“Sendou Aichi.”

“Are you…a friend of Ren’s?”

“I came with him, yes.”

“That’s why I haven’t seen you around. Is it your first time in London?”

“Yes, it’s very beautiful.”

Their conversation continues in the same vein. Small talk-ish, incredibly nervous on Galliard’s part, much to his surprise. He doesn’t usually feel like this when he strikes conversations with other people (which already isn’t often, but that’s beside the point). There’s just something about Aichi that fires his nerves and makes his hands tremble with a strange sort of excitement. He isn’t sure if it’s been a while since he felt it, or if he’s even felt this way at all.

They’re fast friends soon enough, however, Aichi being someone rather easy to talk to despite the hesitance about him. They share quite a number of things in common it seems, such as the love for good food, sports cars, and travel. Galliard hasn’t felt comfortable with someone else in ages.

“Let’s ditch this party,” Aichi leans in incredibly close to his ear, sending soft shivers down his spine. He didn’t think his own language would sound this good on a foreigner’s tongue.

They take a couple of trundling buses to Shaftesbury Avenue, weaving in and out the streets of Chinatown in a fit of childish giggles, like school boys that dared each other to skip classes for the first time. They pass by the theaters, grabbing bubble tea from the local Chatime before heading into the nearest club.

Bubble tea in a dim, pounding night club is laughable, but they don’t really care. They breeze through milk tea and move to the bar and its fruity concoctions, conversing all the way. Galliard talks about himself with pomp, and Aichi listens. As in really listens, and it’s a rather humbling experience, all circumstances considered. Galliard isn’t stupid, he knows his own temperament and how he deals with people, especially with what they say behind his back. Too arrogant, too proud, too fucking rich, riding on the laurels of his father and taking a Master’s Degree in Business just to look good. Maybe he is, but he doesn’t really care.

But Aichi, the way he leans forward slightly whenever he speaks (or tries to, above the boom of house music), the way his face lights up when he talks about something he loves, his genuine interest in what Galliard has to say, the way his face scrunches up whenever he sips his Flirtini like it’s the first time he’s tasting alcohol.

“You’re brilliantly deceptive,” Galliard accuses, after an unspoken competition of five increasingly strong cocktails each. “You’re a pro at holding your liquor.”

Aichi smiles at that. He has two smiles, an innocent one, like sunshine, honest, lovely and decidedly boyish, and then a sultry one, that goes straight to Galliard’s dick.

“Wanna go somewhere else?” he mouths against Aichi’s neck by their seventh drink and the boy practically purrs.

They’re stumbling into a small, inconspicuous hotel in downtown Soho. It’s somewhere Galliard frequents, and the receptionist tosses them keys, trusting them to check out in the morning with pay, no explanations needed.

They’re barely out the elevator and they can’t keep their hands off each other, sliding up each other’s shirts in the hallway, bumping and giggling against the walls like there’s something more to just one night.

There’s an iPod dock and Aichi slips his iPhone in, flipping through his playlists and settling for strange Japanese pop that Galliard’s never understood the hype of, but it’s catchy.

“They’re called FAKY,” Aichi says as he pulls Galliard toward him by the scruff of his Armani.

 _Tonight, subette wasurechatte choudai,_ the lyrics pumps out, and Aichi translates it in gentle French. If it means anything else, Galliard ignores it.

They kiss to the upbeat tune.

Soft, sloppy, and wet. He didn’t know tongues could feel so much. Galliard follows Aichi’s lead to the bed, kiss breaking as the boy bounces on the mattress, laughing. It’s an amazing mix of innocence and sensuality. Galliard is unassailably attracted to him.

He worships his body. Aichi moans and arches toward him as Galliard licks a wide strip upward his stomach, removing his turtleneck in one fluid movement. He pulls back to look at him and oh he’s…

 

*･゜ﾟ･*

 

“—he was marked, I should have known. I should have—“

“Marked?” Rati asks. She’s used to his show and tell, but it hasn’t been this intriguing in a while. It isn’t everyday someone got Galliard invested.

Her best friend bites his lip, not out of remembering something good, but out of well and true annoyance. “His nipples were pierced. Sapphire inlays and everything.”

Rati raises an eyebrow, telling him she isn’t catching on even if she wanted to.

“He’s a fucking Songbird.”

“Oh.”

It’s a barbaric hobby of the modern Eastern aristocracy, in Galliard’s humble opinion, owning people. Granted they weren’t just any people—talented, unearthly beautiful males and females whose sole purpose was to be paraded around by their masters, entertaining other old fogeys who had way too much retirement money.

Of course, it wasn’t a secret they were used for other things. Mainly sex, no sugar coats. Songbirds were personal whores.

“I should’ve stopped when I knew, but _god_ …”

 

*･゜ﾟ･*

 

God, indeed. Aichi keens and ruts against him as Galliard touches the jewels on his chest, pinching and tugging them between his fingers, taking them into his mouth and toying with the stones. Aichi shivers under him, breathing “more, more” his Japanese accent bleeding through.

They’re pants are both painfully tight.

“Take them off,” Galliard whispers against his sternum and Aichi follows, divesting the garment with practiced ease. He shimmies toward Galliard with a truly disarming smile, thumbing the hem of his black briefs (how can a pair of black briefs be so ridiculously hot is beyond him), freeing his cock with a smooth downward movement and a sigh.

Aichi’s surprises aren’t done for the evening.

He’s shaven, skin creamy smooth as the rest of him. His dick elegantly curves upward, a proud thing already leaking precome from the tip…

…that was decorated by a Prince Albert, matching sapphire inlay gleaming amidst his goo.

Galliard audibly moans and Aichi’s smile widens.

“Y-you like it?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. He’s heard about people getting piercings there, but it’s the first time he’s actually seen it, up close no less. And it’s ridiculously sexy, beyond the initial twinge of discomfort in his stomach. He removes his own pants and frees his own cock, already red and really, really hard.

“Want you inside me,” Aichi breathes, hand gently coming up to hold and stroke it.

“Yeah,” Galliard says again, more of a throaty moan than anything else, finding coherent thought difficult at this point. He spreads Aichi’s legs open and takes his cock in his mouth.

“ _Mhmm!_ ”

He wonders if it hurts, and drags a bit of teeth over the head, catching the ring and giving it a gentle tug.

Aichi swears in Japanese, the sound so raw and wanton, Galliard almost comes undone.

“Fuck, _fuck_ you’re so good,” Aichi amends in French. “But, please I can’t…”

Galliard releases him with  a pop and shifts to rummage through bedside drawer for a cheap packet of lube and rips open two. Aichi squirms on the sheets, flushed and beautiful and fuck he can’t be bothered by foreplay and slathers the thing against the boy’s entrance.

“ _Ah!_ ”

“Cold?”

“A little, just…let me.”

For a moment Galliard isn’t sure what he means, until Aichi gently takes the packet from him and plants both feet on the mattress, lifting his ass up for him to see, moaning and writhing while he stretches himself open, one…two…three fingers gently pushing in and out of his hole.

He’s giving him a show.

A god damn show.

Galliard bites his lip so hard it almost bleeds. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s so painfully hard and Aichi’s open face is so lovely. Kissing is a good interim as any and Galliard swallows Aichi’s sounds with his own.

“Inside,” Aichi breathes again, panting and pink, and Galliard sinks into his neck with little nips and open-mouthed kisses. He smells so good, light sweat and all.

He nudges his cock against Aichi’s entrance and slowly slides in. His eyes squeeze shut. It’s so hot and tight and it feels so damn good it takes all of his willpower not to release then and there. Aichi clenches and unclenches all around him, body beneath his own shuddering and whimpering, adjusting to the feel of being cleaved open. It’s too painful to move for a few seconds.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay. Please, just…”

Galliard tries to find a good pace. The friction lights his skin on fire, oversensitive at first before subsiding into a pleasant numbness that builds and builds and coils in the pit of their stomachs. Aichi grabs his own cock and pumps it in time to Galliard’s thrusts.

“Faster…”

Galliard obeys, pace still erratic. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until he pushes up in a certain way that makes Aichi convulse and cry out in pleasure and surprise.

“There, is it?” Galliard asks breathlessly, albeit triumphant. He rolls his hips up to that spot, again and again until Aichi’s seeing stars.

“Feels good?”

“S-so good _nnah!_ ”

The boy has coalesced into syllables, pushed from his lungs with every thrust that sends him closer and closer to the edge, name chopped up on his lips.

He’s beautiful, Galliard thinks before he can’t last any longer and comes, wrenched strong from beneath his depth it almost makes him pass out. Aichi rides it, following shortly after, back locking into a tight arch, quivering and shuddering, head thrown back, mouth open and gasping for air.

Truly beautiful, sensual, and pornographic.

Galliard can’t help but feel like he’s looking at a work of art, ranked among those he always saw in the Louvre on bored weekends, a work of art he just fucked. They collapse boneless on top of each other. Aichi laughing weakly, “that was good, really good,” spilling from bitten lips.

Idly, Galliard notes a tattoo of a white rose splashed on his lower back. His stomach dips again, this time out of some vague dread, but the sweet exhaustion and afterglow takes him.

The next morning, Aichi is gone.

 

*･゜ﾟ･*

 

“I tried calling Ren—“

Rati whistles. “Oho _please_ tell me you aren’t that desperate.”

Galliard tuts, angry at himself for reasons Rati can’t even begin to describe. “He said he has a different owner in Japan. The name’s Kai Toshiki, and he’s completely loyal to him.”

“So why let him out of his cage and sleep around?”

Galliard shoots her a glare. “It’s a game. A fucking sick game they play where he whores his Songbird out for god knows why the fuck,” he downs the rest of now cold coffee in one go and slams the fancy china on its saucer.

Rati sighs, bemused, if not a little sympathetic. “You’ve got it bad. You’ve got it real bad.”

There’s a sharp pain as Galliard moves to bite his thumbnail again. He’s bitten through too much, and now it's bleeding.

**END**


End file.
